Go with the Flow

Shortly after I finished my Kokopelli Trail ride in Utah last weekend, I found myself in a position I land in frequently — trying to explain to skeptics what it is about long bike rides that I find so appealing. When attempting to verbally describe this concept while my mind is still fried from the physical demands of the ride, I often hem and haw and mutter buzz words such as "pretty" and "mountains." One non-cyclist friend speculated that she would become "crazy bored" on a six-hour solo ride; another mountain biker friend called this particular redrock canyon route "cheesy" because it lacked the necessary amount of adrenaline-pumping singletrack. "I can't really explain it," I finally concluded. "But long-distance rides are one of the few activities I can fully immerse myself in. Sometimes when I'm on my bike, I get so caught up in the movement that I let go of everything else; nothing else matters. It's liberating, really, to lose myself so completely."

A couple of days later, while chatting about music on our way home from Moab, my friend Craig shared similar sentiments as he described improvising on his saxophone. After his wife and daughter go to bed, he sometimes slips into his garage and lets the whole world disappear into the music. He's playing the instrument, but the harmony seems to be creating itself, an independent energy that pulls him along for the ride. As the conversation continued, I realized that Craig wasn't just describing the same emotions I feel during long bike rides. He was describing the same experience.

When I pointed out the similarities of our reactions to these two otherwise unrelated activities, Craig recommended I read "Flow: The Psychology of the Optimal Experience" by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. This was a fairly popular pop psychology book written in the 1980s that I had never heard of before this past weekend; strangely, as Csikszentmihalyi's theories bolster the same ideas I have been forming — and writing about — for years. "Flow" proposes that optimal experiences are formed when people focus so fully on an achieving a goal that they shed all excess distractions, and in the process experience energized attention, enlightenment, and joy. He proposes that the happiest people are those who consistently enter this kind of "flow" state, funneling all of their energy and emotions into the singular satisfaction of the moment.

"I developed a theory of optimal experience based on the concept of flow—the state in which people are so involved in an activity that nothing else seems to matter; the experience itself is so enjoyable that people will do it even at great cost, for the sheer sake of doing it," Csikszentmihalyi wrote in "Flow." Later, when describing his clinical research, he explained, "What I discovered was that happiness is not something that happens. It is not the result of good fortune or random chance. It is not something that money can buy or power command. It does not depend on outside events, but, rather, on how we interpret them. Happiness, in fact, is a condition that must be prepared for, cultivated, and defended privately by each person. People who learn to control inner experience will be able to determine the quality of their lives, which is as close as any of us can come to being happy."

And another quote that will resonate with endurance junkies everywhere: "The best moments usually occur when a person’s body or mind is stretched to its limits in a voluntary effort to accomplish something difficult and worthwhile. Optimal experience is thus something that we make happen."

It's a compelling concept that can obviously be applied far beyond the simple acts of riding bicycles or playing jazz music. A painter creating a mural, a lawyer building a case, two friends engaged in an engrossing conversation, and a worker on an assembly line are among examples of flow states described in the book. I just started reading "Flow" and am only a quarter way in (27 percent according to my Kindle), but it's been quite illuminating reading. I considered some of the times in my life during which I've entered into a fully immersive state, and the activities that generated this flow:

1. Long-distance cycling, especially in wild and scenic landscapes
2. Hiking and running, especially in physically demanding conditions or on difficult terrain (i.e. climbing steep mountains)
3. Piecing together all the components of a daily newspaper under tight deadline pressure (i.e. editing and designing newspaper pages — sadly not a high-demand skill these days.)
4. Writing

In fact, flow is exactly what has been missing from my writing lately. Reading this book has sparked consideration as to how I can get this back. For the past year, my strategy has largely consisted of aggressively pursuing the first two activities. This has kept me saturated in flow experiences and subsequent feelings of contentedness and happiness, but admittedly at the expense of more traditional productivity. Still, I feel grateful that I'm healthy and secure enough to have regular access to this enriching state — even if relatively few can understand what's so great about riding a bicycle. It means something to me — and in an existence formed by inner experiences, that's what matters.

I'll continue reading this book and working harder to apply this satisfying singular focus to other aspects of my life. But I'm blogging about it now because I believe the concept of flow can be an effective shield in the widespread battle against anxiety, depression, and discontent. It's something worth reflecting on — What activities bring you to a state where you forget about time, hunger, exhaustion, even fear? How can these activities become more of a central focus in your life? I think these are important questions. 

Suddenly spring

 Spring is my favorite time of year in California. In this region, spring actually spans February and March; by April it's the cusp of summer, with its heat and parched hills, face-stalking flies, dusty trails, stinging nettle and robust poison oak. But for now it is still spring, and returning from white winter to hills splashed in green has been refreshing.

 Less refreshing is re-acclimating to 80-degree temperatures, discovering that SPF 15 is no longer going to cut it, and sweaty chamois. But, Alaska adventures are over and it's time to look forward to the summer projects, put in more productive screen time, and get back out there in anticipation of the rest of 2014. I'll write soon about my summer plans, but let's just say there is a lot of mountain biking *and* mountain running in my near future. This is to be the year of "forever pace," a grand experiment and one that I'm pretty excited about.

 Trying to pull myself out of White Mountains 100 and travel fatigue resulted in slow-paced plods on Thursday and Friday, but by Saturday both Beat and I were feeling more snappy and rallied for a four-hour mountain bike ride with Liehann. This was Beat's longest effort since he returned from Nome two weeks ago (was it really that recently? It feels like months at this point.) He rode the same bike I used in the White Mountains, re-fitted with 29" wheels. Beat purchased the soft-tail Moots as a mountain bike that just happened to be convertible to a fat bike, and I think this was his longest ride so far on the (decidedly slimmer) beast. He seemed pleased with the handling and agility. It is a great bike.

 Enjoying the spoils of snow biking in sunny California.

 Thirty-five miles and 5,200 feet of climbing in the "heat" admittedly felt tougher than I expected, but saddle time is my current goal, so I joined Liehann for his long ride on Sunday. We planned an 80-mile loop through Big Basin and Pescadero state parks. The winter here was exceptionally dry, but when Beat left Alaska, he took all the bad weather that had been shadowing him for two weeks and brought it home — a whole week of rain. I just missed it, bringing Alaska's unseasonably blue skies and warmth home with me, to enjoy the newly lush trails and hillsides after green-up.

It seemed cooler on the move than it was. Our lunch break in the sun quickly migrated to a lunch break in the shade, huddled in a thin sliver of a fir tree shadow — which was humorous given we were riding through Big Basin Redwoods State Park, offering a lot of places to escape the sun just below the dry and exposed ridge. For lunch I had a sad bread-and-cheese "sandwich" that I cobbled together from a relatively empty fridge in the morning. That's when Liehann pulled out an entire pound of sliced turkey and offered to share. That's an important sign of a good bike partner — the ability to complete a sandwich.

 Blasting down Gazos Creek fireroad. Photos can't really illustrate it, but this is pretty much the best descent ever, at least for a fireroad. Fast and flowing with swooping turns, steep drops, the filtered sunlight of huge redwood trees, cool shade, moss and ferns, gurgling creeks and chirpy birds to complete the tropical rainforest feel of the place. The climb back up Pescadero is equally steep, equally redwoody, and decidedly less sublime. I felt more tired and taxed than I did at any point during the White Mountains 100. But if I stopped my internal whining long enough to consider it, I realized that my legs still felt plenty strong, the head-boiling sensation would fade once acclimation kicked in, and eighty miles is really not so far. It was a big weekend — 115 miles and some 15,000 feet of climbing all told, but not a big deal. In both 2012 and 2013, I returned from Alaska feeling physically downtrodden, a mental state that carried into rough-edged summers. I'm experimenting with making this season different simply by switching up my attitude. We'll see how it plays out, but it's my new mantra: "not a big deal." No need to worry about limits if there are none.

Beat keeps asking about my Iditarod race report. I haven't started it. I'm spending my days with newspaper projects and finishing up the book about Tim Hewitt, as well as working on my book proposal for Ann Trason. With the Iditarod story, I had this idea to spend a bit more time on the writing, polish more than usual, and integrate text and photos in a more dynamic way than the blog allows. Basically, I want to make a small digital book out of it. Beat thinks there might not be enough material there, but I want to have fun with the project — after all, what's the point of writing about your own adventures if you can't have fun with the writing as well?

Since I struggle so much with finishing a full book, I'm considering the prospect of "micro-publishing" to keep the salmon wheel turning. Other authors have tried this with variable success, some slim to none, but it seems worth a shot. I recently did my taxes, and although my books are dwarfed by other sources of income, it continues to surprise me how many royalties they still bring in. This blog, which I spend hours and hours and hours on (for fun; it's my relaxation outlet) pulls in about $1,000 a year through Google Ads. The books, which I spent a few weeks writing years ago and haven't done much with since, still make considerably more than that. It's all chump change in the Silicon Valley, but it's a start. Something I really need to figure out this year, in addition to finding my forever pace, is what I really want to do as a writer/editor/publisher. Taxes make it starkly clear which efforts "pay off" and which ones really are just a hobby. I've never been one to place all or even the majority of my self worth in the things other people are willing to pay me to do, but splashes of honesty are occasionally needed when the things I've been so dedicated to just aren't working. With that said, I maintain loyalty to the downtrodden newspaper industry, and I believe even more firmly in books. 

Finding Mars

I admit, during the past week, I have spent a lot of time thinking about the Tour Divide. I blame, in part, a book I've been reading: "Finding Mars" by Fairbanks-based science journalist Ned Rozell. It's one of thirty or so paperbacks I still have on a bookshelf after culling my collection substantially over the past ten years. Since returning from Alaska, I've commenced nightly sauna "heat training." Because I can't read my Kindle in the sauna, I rifled through my bookshelf for old paperbacks to sacrifice to the cause (high heat causes books to fall apart.) I think Rozell's publisher sent me a copy of "Finding Mars" when I was still an Alaska journalist — anyway, I've had this book for four or more years, and assumed I'd already read it. Somehow I must have overlooked it, because while this "second reading" hasn't jogged my memory, much about this book has captured my imagination.

"Finding Mars" is a first-person account from Rozell as he follows a Japanese permafrost researcher, Kenji Yoshikawa, on a 750-mile field-testing trip by snowmobile across Northwest Alaska. Along with anecdotes about science and history of the region, Rozell also expounds on Kenji's fascinating life: a victim of hopeless wanderlust, Kenji spent his childhood in overcrowded Tokyo, dreaming of traveling to Mars. He dedicated his early adulthood to pursing the next best thing — he pulled a wheeled cart across the Sahara Desert, pedaled a bike across Australia, skied to the South Pole, and spent an winter in a sailboat frozen in the sea ice north of Barrow. From Rozell's writing, I could sense a kind of kindred spirit in Kenji — someone who yearns for open spaces in which to let perspectives expand and thoughts flow freely. My favorite chapter of the book describes the experiences Kenji and his partners enjoyed while skiing across Antarctica. 

"In Antarctica, every day was the same, same, same, same, same — for two months. But that sameness was very important for us, because we could think of many things every day. It was like Zen meditation."

Rozell writes, "A professor at Kyoto University later analyzed Kenji's dreams as the walk went on. In the early days of the trip, Kenji's dreams most often included, in order: (1) a prizefight featuring himself against a big-name boxer. (2) money. (3) women. (4) food. In the middle days, Kenji dreamed about (1) famous people who he admired. (2) foreign countries. (3) food. During the last two weeks of the trip, Kenji dreamed about (1) the ski across Antarctica. (2) food."

 The reductive nature of arduous journeys is often regarded as a liability, not a benefit. Still, I believe this to be one of the more valuable aspects of adventure. Paring one's life down to bare necessities has a way of sharping perspective, giving us the ability to look beyond all the confusion and noise, and see ourselves and the world around us with renewed clarity. The appeal of Kenji's simple outlook echoed in my own desire to take my bike to Canada, point it south, and do nothing else but ride it for (ideally) 20 days. If I keep my body fueled, my thoughts focused, and my legs moving, perhaps I can capture that rare opportunity to experience a mind as free and open as the Antarctic Plateau.

The timing this summer is about as ideal as it can be, with Beat heading to South Africa for a month in early June, (finally) nearing the finish of one book project, and receiving the go-ahead and a fairly open timeline for another. My fitness could certainly be better, but then I remind myself that I got by okay in 2009 after spending two months recovering from frostbite that largely kept me off my bike, followed by only seven weeks of real training. Six years have passed since my first Tour Divide experience, which is almost unfathomable, and I realize it's also been that long since I engaged in a substantial solo effort. If I have serious aspirations to take a bike to Nome in 2016, I could use a refresher in self-management and self-sufficiency when shattered. I couldn't plan a much better "training ride" than the Tour Divide.

When considering the Tour Divide, I was most concerned about my "mental fitness" — possibly lacking the mojo to stick it out to the finish. The common refrain echoes in my head as well — "Why do the same thing again?" I considered ideas for bike tours in different countries, but to be entirely honest, I just couldn't build enough excitement to get past the initial planning stages. I don't have any excuses — solo international travel is undoubtedly a wonderful experience, but it might just not be for me right now. When weighing the logistics, planning, and expenses, it wasn't what I wanted. I joked with Beat that maybe the two of us would get this endurance bug out of our systems, and then we could plan more relaxed treks across New Zealand or the Himalaya together. (Okay, this isn't a joke, but rather something I want to happen someday.) But while my body is still capable and mind willing, I do want to continue engaging in endurance challenges to explore far reaches of my inner galaxy. I want to find Mars.

Perhaps this is simply an excuse to take three weeks off from the world and ride my bike. Either way, it's been on my mind all week, to the point where I ordered new GDMBR maps and have spent some time researching potential updates to my circa-2009 budget gear. (Sleeping bag, water purification, sleeping pad, bivy sack, battery-powered lights — actually I could use some recommendations.) I also continue to conduct training with an eye toward the Tour Divide — basically, long days in the saddle, and lots of climbing. Since Beat is training for the Freedom Challenge, we've indulged in frequent biking and running dates, which I'm enjoying.  

After one rather rough recovery week following the White Mountains 100, for each of the past three weeks I've logged around 20 hours of running or cycling, with 20,000-22,000 feet of climbing. My goal for the month of May is to match or exceed that, with a couple of overnight trips, and the Ohlone 50K (May 17) — mostly because I love the Ohlone 50K. But for cycling, the goal is to ride tired, shore up mental fitness, gauge whether my mind and body is close to where I'd like it to be, and then decide whether to buy a ticket to Calgary in June. Of course I'll put together gear and dial in my bike before then. But as of now I'm not ready to commit one way or the other, and doubt I will before the first of June. (Which, incidentally, is not unlike my emotional commitment level before the race in 2009.) The Tour Divide is something I want to do again only if I'm going to commit to racing the full distance — to the limits of my capabilities. There are always ways I could be better, but the appeal of such a journey lies in seeking the hard edges. If I wanted to ride purely in the interest of touring, I would go somewhere new. 

 There will still be lots of running in May, of course. I believe running has made me a better cyclist — my knees are largely pain-free these days (at least, they're pain-free when I haven't recently torn or bruised something because I fell while running. But my knees nearly always hurt to some degree when I was predominantly a cyclist, before 2010.) My feet are tougher and I'm less prone to achilles and ankle pain (whenever cyclists ask about shoe recommendations to avoid such pains, I can only shrug and recommend running.) Running has also led to feeling stronger while climbing on a bike, and improved my long-term endurance.

Riding a bicycle, however, does not make me a better runner — I share the attitude that the only way to improve in running is to run. Even in the best of times, the time I spend cycling means I run relatively low mileage for a distance runner. But that's okay. My participation in UTMB may be put in jeopardy if I commit to the Tour Divide. Last year, I gave up the Hardrock 100 to ride the Freedom Challenge. I suppose when it comes down to it, I'll always be a cyclist first and a runner second, but I value my ability to liberally indulge in both.

 On Saturday Beat and I ran one of our favorite local routes, from Long Ridge down into Peter's Creek and back. The route accesses one of the few remaining old-growth redwood groves in the Santa Cruz Mountains, and also is one of the more rugged and remote trails in the region. It's 16 miles that always ends up feeling like 30 — stressfully steep descending, loose dirt, mud, roots, stream crossings, huge deadfall obstacles, tough climbs, repeat.

 Now that it's spring, the route also includes a continuous gauntlet of poison oak, billowing into the trail on both sides. We tried our best to ginger-step around it, to the point of contorting our bodies dramatically just to avoid touching anything green. I bathed myself in half a bottle of Technu after the run, but I'm still expecting to come down with a rash in a week. We love Peter's Creek, but I doubt we'll be back anytime soon. Poison oak is not a hazard to be trifled with, and it's everywhere after a drought-stricken, warm winter. It makes me want to avoid singletrack altogether.

 Long Ridge is still in nice shape, with a nice Friday-night rainstorm yielding gooey mud that turned to hero dirt before the day was over.

 That run is always tougher than it looks on paper. Peter's Creek, combined with a few overindulgences at a friend's dinner party on Saturday night, put me in rough shape for our planned nine-hour ride on Sunday. I was feeling sluggish from the start, and Beat asked me if I wanted to quit early. No! I couldn't ask for better training conditions.

For the past three weeks, most of my rides and runs have felt a little too easy. Finally, I could get outside with tired, achy legs and a grumpy disposition, and try to turn that all around. It actually worked pretty well. It took most of the day to not feel like a slug, but I worked hard at massaging my attitude while coaxing my legs. Finally, about 6.5 hours in, I devoured a bunch of fruit snacks and put in a strong effort up the final long climb.

We made good enough time that we were able to venture into Montebello Open Space before the park closed at sunset (rangers do hang out there, and they will ticket people.) Ascending the Bella Vista trail in warm evening light was a nice reward for our efforts. Even though I was feeling much better, I had to pedal hard to keep up with Beat. He has had a tough recovery from his Alaska journey, but he's finally starting to come around. I'm going to miss those few rides in April where I was still a little bit stronger than him. I think those days are over, but I'm glad he's feeling more confident about the Freedom Challenge.

Around here, there are few better places to be than the top of Black Mountain at sunset. It's simple and comforting to think about spending the next few months in California, sticking to my routine, planning some weekend backpacking trips, training for UTMB, and working on book projects. As recently as one week ago, this was my plan. But the fact that the easy plan is so appealing leads me to believe this is the wrong decision to make. As always, I like to keep my options open. 

Friday roundup

In the midst of a lot of nervous energy about finishing up my book, and the tedious promotional work that's gone along with it, I've been grateful for my opportunities to get outside this week. Unfortunately, after the Banff/North Dakota/Ohlone 50K whirlwind of travel and activity, my body hasn't quite been able to keep up. I've been more sluggish than usual, and these days I actually have a GPS/heart rate monitor to show me the ways in which I haven't quite snapped back from recovery yet. Of course there was the 25-mile mountain bike ride with Beat, the seven-mile run along Skyline, and the Mission Peak hill mountain repeats (Beat's idea ... steep terrain practice) that together amounted to about 8,500 feet of climbing since the race. It's all just a continuation of the last two weeks and potentially the next two weeks. Barring injury or burnout, I actually think it's a good idea for me to "train tired" from time to time so I become will accustomed to carrying on when my body feels less than awesome. Then of course rest to fully recover before the big event. I'm not claiming this is a sound training strategy. Mostly, I'm just shoring up mental stamina to carry me through my next fun slog. Plus, I needed excuses to play outside despite admittedly sore quads and weaker heart rate. That's all training really is to me anyway ... an excuse to play outside.

This brings me to my new favorite energy food. You thought I was going to say Honey Stinger Waffles, weren't you? Wrong! These are exactly like Honey Stinger Waffles, at about one tenth the price:

Caramel Bites or "Stroopwafels" from Trader Joe's. Yes, these are the exact same thing. Ok, maybe Honey Stinger uses organic ingredients and packages them in neat individual wrappers. But nutritionally and taste-wise, they're identical. The nutritional indistinguishability is the part that gets to me. I can't tell you how many aquaintances have praised Honey Stinger Waffles only to balk when I reply, "I know. They're awesome. They're cookies." Not only are they just cookies, but they're unapologetically overpriced cookies. I saw Honey Stinger Waffles at a store in Canada for $3 each. Given the current exchange rate, that's like $147 in U.S. dollars. For a small cookie. Yes, a delicious cookie. Still just a cookie.

But because Honey Stinger markets them, they've developed a reputation as a nutritious energy food. Nope. Cookies. Not that I'm against using cookies as energy food. In fact, I'm a big advocate of the taste, convenience and calorie-loading benefits of subsisting on candy and cookies. Which brings me to the next segment of my blog post. Occasionally during the next few weeks, until my book release next month, I'm going to post short excerpts from "Be Brave, Be Strong: A Journey Across the Great Divide" so readers can get a feel for the content. I will offer book pre-ordering soon.

This is an excerpt from Chapter 18: "Untouchable"

I had become an expert on small-town convenience stores. Even independently owned service stations, buried in the most remote regions of the west, all had a near-identical selection of products laid out in a nearly identical way. Their organization was both simple and highly effective, designed for the maximum obtainment of junk food.

I walked into the Salida 7-Eleven with single-minded purpose, knowing I would not pass another significantly populated town on the route for more than 150 miles. I strolled down the first aisle, also known as the candy bar aisle, and selected four king-sized Snickers bars — which not only boasted 500 calories each, but were also usually the most popular and therefore freshest items on the shelf. I then grabbed four pairs of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, prone to melting but probably okay in the high mountain air. The next aisle, the salty snack aisle, held my Corn Nuts, regular nuts, and packages of crackers. The next aisle, the specialty candy aisle, was my favorite. It was here that I was treated to the widest and most thrilling range of selection that can only be found in gummy snacks. I was partial to Sour Patch Kids, but I liked to mix it up with gummy bears and sour worms and sometimes something florescent and obnoxious and full of artificially flavored and chemically colored high-fructose corn syrup. 7-Eleven also carried chocolate-covered espresso beans, a special treat for the mornings I anticipated waking up in a sleeping bag. In the “regular food” aisle, I usually picked up tuna packets and the occasional energy bar. The refrigerated shelves along the outer edge of the store held my orange juice, liters of Pepsi, yogurt, and the hopeful rewards in my never-ending search for wax-coated balls of cheese. I finished with an extra-large cup of coffee and a quick browse of the gourmet cases in front of the store, where I could obtain 600-calorie “homemade” brownies and the cinnamon roll I planned to eat for breakfast before heading out the following morning. After less than five minutes of "shopping," I’d walk to the counter and dump 10,000 calories — about two days’ worth of food — in front of the startled clerk.

“Um, did you find everything you needed?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” I said.

The clerk in Salida was more bold than most, and she smiled wryly. “Having a little celebration are we?” she asked.

I smiled back. If I was more bold, or a better actress, I would have launched into a long sob story about how my husband just cheated on me and I didn’t want to be in the world any more so I was just going to eat my way into a sugar coma. If I had been even bolder than that, I might have just told her the truth, but instead I said, “Ah, I’m just stocking up.”

“Okay then,” she said as she slid a heart attack’s worth of survival food into a plastic bag. “Have a nice day.”

Finally, in anticipation of the book launch, I am offering digital files of "Ghost Trails" for the low, low price of $2.99. You can upload an eBook for your Kindle, Nook, Sony Reader, or laptop at http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/62341. "Ghost Trails," my first memoir that I released in November 2008, details the pivotal life experiences that led to my participation in the 2008 Iditarod Trail Invitational — which remains perhaps the most intense and perspective-altering experience of my life. It also provides an entertaining backstory to "Be Brave, Be Strong."

Have a great weekend!

Blog interview

Recently a guy named David, who works with a T-shirt company called Adayak, interviewed me for a people feature on the company blog. I've had my nose to the grindstone since I got back from Denali and haven't had time to do much else, so I hope he doesn't mind if I post the questions on my own blog.

Your hometown is just outside of Salt Lake City, Utah. How did you end up in Alaska?

I'm the worst kind of cliche for an Alaska woman - I followed a man here. My former boyfriend talked me into moving up in 2005. We traveled through the state in summer 2003 and both fell in love with the landscape and the culture, but I was reluctant to move up because I feared the cold and isolation. I remember saying to him, "What in the world am I going to do all winter long?" That was before I discovered snow biking. The relationship didn't work out but I'm glad living in Alaska - and loving winter - did.

Where did your passion for cycling come from? Did your family encourage you to ride or did you pick it up on your own?

I was like most suburban kids. I only rode my bicycle when my parents refused to drive me to my friends' houses. I didn't own a bicycle as an adult until I was 22 years old. My (now ex-boyfriend) and I were driving home from a camping trip in Moab, Utah, one Sunday afternoon when I saw a bicycle tourist riding up Spanish Fork Canyon. I said, "Wouldn't it be fun to travel around on a bicycle?" That set a plan in motion a bicycle tour around the Four Corners area. I bought a touring bike and spent the summer "practicing," which I later relented to calling "training." Our two-week tour in September 2002 took us all around the mountains and deserts of Southeastern Utah and Southwestern Colorado. I came home from that trip completely hooked.

You wrote a book titled Ghost Trails. Did you always aspire to write a book or did it come about by accident.

I still have a paper I wrote when I was in first grade titled "Where I will be in the Year 2000." I wrote that I would be 21 years old and probably in college, where I was going to study writing because "I want to be a writer and write books." As an adult, I swung that aspiration toward a career in journalism, but the desire to be an author has been there since I learned my ABC's.

You have been blogging on Up in Alaska since 2005 - that's a long time! How do you find inspiration and new topics to keep the blog updated?

With my blog, it isn't hard because I just write about my life and I'm always out there living my life. I appreciate interest and input from readers, but I'm being honest when I say that I write my blog for my own benefit. I love looking back at old posts: the pictures, memories and insights into how I've changed. It is my journal, only online and public. If it grabs people's interest, great. The blog has put me in touch with some of the best people I've ever met.

Is there anything that blogging provides you that writing newspaper articles or authoring a book doesn't?

Well, blogs are a stream-of-consciousness kind of forum, usually unedited, so they generally feature a much more raw and honest form of writing. Plus, there's no limit on the things you can write about. Newspaper articles and books aim to be more commercial, so they have to cater to the interests of larger audiences. On my blog, I could write about the kinds of mustard I have in my fridge if I wanted to. That doesn't mean anyone is going to read it, but I could.

The pictures of Alaska on your blog are incredible - they alone probably keep a lot of your readers coming back for more. Is photography a hobby for you, or do you just point and shoot? What type of camera do you use?

I'm pretty sure my blog has a lot of "readers" that never actually read a word. I like to say that Alaska is like a supermodel - it's hard to take a bad picture of it. Right now I just use a point-and-shoot, an Olympus Stylus Tough, to document my activities. But the act of just shooting pictures in order to preserve memories has generated more of an interest in photography itself, and I am looking to upgrade my camera.

What is the longest race/ride you've ever completed?

The Tour Divide, a 2,740-mile mountain bike race along the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route, which spans the Continental Divide from Banff, Alberta, to Antelope Wells, New Mexico. The race took me 24 days, and until this year's race begins on June 11, I still hold the women's record (which will likely be broken this year.)

Have you ever been on a ride and been stuck in a terrible situation? Maybe you've been lost, come face to face with a grizzly bear, or almost fallen off a cliff? You did recently get pretty close to a porcupine!

Porcupines are a real hazard! They're low-profile, and they saunter onto trails and don't move all that quickly away. You really have to watch out for them if you don't want to end up with a tire and legs full of quills. That said, I've only been in bicycle situations that felt terrible at the time, but in hindsight were just scary or uncomfortable: Completely bonking at 2 a.m. in an extremely remote canyon in Alaska when the temperature was 20 below (during the 2008 Iditarod Trail Invitational), or being exposed to a horrific electric storm on a high Colorado pass during the Tour Divide. But I've always gotten through unscathed.

What type of bike do you ride?

I ride a 2007 Surly Pugsley as a snow bike, a 2008 Surly Karate Monkey as a mountain bike, and a 2004 Ibex Corrida as a touring bike.

Something a little more fun - what's your favorite movie, TV show, and book of all time?

I love "Office Space." That is quite possibly my favorite movie of all time, although I haven't given that subject a lot of thought. My favorite author is Thomas Wolfe. His books really form one long semi-fictional autobiography, and I love those.

If you could go on a cycling trip anywhere in the world - where would you go?

For years I have aspired to travel across Mongolia on my bicycle. Someday I am going to do it. I'd also love to ride in Antarctica, although that requires major bucks I'll likely never have.

Ask me anything

In my last post I requested that readers "Ask me anything." I lifted the idea from an acquaintance, Mike Place, whose shared his own honest and introspective answers. It seemed like a great way to spur self-reflection — an indulgent but useful exercise. Thank you to everyone who posed a question. A few were quite difficult. I'm posting them in the order I received them. Along with the answers are photos from a "run commute" with Eszter, Scott, and Beat on Wednesday evening. We took the most direct route that would travel over three peaks to our home. It was just a little over eight miles and took four hours — tracing old trails, all-too-briefly running new trails, scrambling on boulders, crawling down loose rocks and chunky scree, and bushwhacking through a burn area. A fun outing! 

 1. Is there something you hope to accomplish during the course of your life? Some theme that you hope people will mention in your obituary or otherwise after you die? Or maybe a better question is "How do you hope to be remembered after you die?" 

It’s interesting that we view accomplishment as a path to immortality. I suppose that’s why writing a book that millions read is a great accomplishment, while writing a book that means a lot to you, but is only read by friends and family, is often viewed as a failure. I’ve given this thought and I’m largely okay with being forgotten soon after I die. Perhaps my great-nieces and nephews will be told about my ride across Alaska, but if they meet me, they’ll probably remember me as a quiet old lady in a weird-smelling house (the way I remember most of my elderly relatives.) At that point, I might not value adventure the way I do now. I might feel like I've become someone else entirely. The self is such a fluid notion; it’s hard to choose just one defining theme.

If I hope to accomplish anything, it’s to live a full life. That sounds like a cop-out, but I truly am grateful for every birthday. I want to continue to skirt the edge of possibility and explore everything I can, including the ever-shifting landscape of my mind. I want to continue to learn and better understand the structure of the world, far-away cultures and the people around me. I want to love and grieve and experience the depths of human emotion. And if one day I write a book that millions read, I certainly wouldn’t complain.

Beat guided us up Green on a saddle behind the First Flatiorn. The route gains 2,300 feet in 1.5 miles.

2. I think the question I want to ask is this — with everything in your life, how do you know when to ask for help? 

The simplest answer is that I do not know when to ask for help. There are so many wonderful people in my life, and too often I fail to reach out to anyone. I struggle with face-to-face conversation. I insulate and internalize difficulties. I can be uncomfortably personal in my writing, because the degree of separation in written words makes it easier for me to express my feelings. Running or biking alone is often the way I process thoughts and emotions, and writing is my cathartic release. Without these outlets, I fear I’d lose myself to bottled-up anxiety, sadness, and fear. I’m working on improving openness in my relationships, in no small part to find the strength to ask for help when I need it.


3. Obviously, dealing with illness will be the topic of your next book. What's the target date of publication? 

Chronic illness will NOT be the topic of my next book. I keep a hobby blog almost solely about personal outdoor activities, which my health directly affects. Of course I’m going to write about illness here, and I don’t really care if that’s not interesting to you. My books actually do aim for a somewhat wider market appeal, which is why I promised myself “no more books about the Iditarod” (although I’ll probably break that promise.) The projects I’m currently dabbling with involve biographies, adventure racing how-to’s, narrative history of places (more of an experimental writing exercise — pondering what places would write if they had consciousness), and one more memoir that explores the exhilaration of being a novice in love and running, set in 2010. No target dates for publication.

We dallied around on the summit of Green while the twilight clock continued to tick. Taskmaster Beat kept us in line.

4. With all of your solo adventures, how do you keep yourself from being scared of the dangers of the world, like animals, people, etc? Does this ever keep you from getting started? 

Back in the summer of 2002, I became almost immobilized by anxiety. It crept up on me, but by June I felt anxious every day. I was terrified of thunderstorms, terrified of my driving commute along the Great Salt Lake, sometimes trembling as I pedaled my new touring bike — which I purchased with daunting adventures in mind — on a routine hour-long ride up City Creek Canyon. I couldn’t define why I was so afraid. But it kept getting worse. One night my bedroom was stifling hot, and I couldn’t bring myself to open the window because I was afraid of Elizabeth Smart’s kidnapper. (Him specifically. He hadn’t been caught and was actually holed up near a trail about a mile from where I lived, but of course I didn’t know this at the time.)

Before the kidnapper-through-the-window delusion, I didn't realize how ridiculous my fearfulness had become. Shortly after that, I had a panic attack during a thunderstorm, while I was indoors. What I experienced that summer could have been the beginnings of an anxiety disorder that never fully developed. But I let it be the moment when I decided that I would not let fear rule my life.

 I am still frightened of the dangers of the world. In a way, understanding my irrational tendencies toward “fear of everything” has helped me overcome fears I probably should embrace, like freezing to death in the Alaska wilderness. But sometimes fears do keep me from getting started. Even though I’ve expanded my comfort levels enormously, I still avoid the things that make me uncomfortable. Joe’s suggestion for climbing in the Flatirons is a good example of this. I’m a clumsy person with relatively poor proprioception (the innate understanding of my body’s position in relation to the environment), and I don’t want to enter a setting where mistakes are costly. I could learn techniques that would improve my security, and in theory I’d like this. But I need to break through this fear to get started.

Stealing a few more moments on Green.

5. How do you keep clean during multi-day endurance efforts in regards to hygiene, and along with that, deal with waste? 

 Wet wipes! If I’m on a multi-day trip I always carry a package of 20 antibacterial wipes and use them generously, then put the used ones in a Ziplock bag until I have a chance to throw them away. Because I'm so sensitive to pollen and dust, I try to scrub most of my body at night before I crawl into the sleeping bag. 

And yes, while not quite as frequently, I still use Wet Wipes in subzero temperatures in Alaska. I keep individual wipes in an inside pocket to prevent them from freezing. Otherwise I am prone to rash, infections, sores, and other issues that can really derail a trip. Every time I hear that someone got “food poisoning” during a trip, I secretly wonder if they washed up after they pooped in the woods. It seems obvious, but when you’re hurting and tired, hygiene is usually the first task to go. 

Feminine products are another issue. Washing up with Wet Wipes and storing everything in a Ziplock trash bag is still the method, although I realize it’s not pleasant. Venturing into TMI, my own cycles are light enough that I don’t usually bother with products on bikepacking trips. Black synthetic underwear and Wet Wipes work well enough. And no, I no longer wear chamois during a multi-day bike tour. I’ve had enough horrors from those bacteria traps. 

6. How do you manage to take such consistently fantastic photos while in the midst of strenuous activity? 

If you ride long distances you tend to see lots of beautiful things, and then it’s easy to take beautiful photos. It’s just a matter of keeping a small digital camera accessible (in my case, the chest pocket of a hydration vest), keeping it in an automatic setting that doesn’t require any fussing, and pulling it out often. 

Top o'Bear, second peak of the evening.

7. Have you ever wished to funnel your energy through something else than running or cycling? What's your work / play ratio? 

 I’ll start with the work/play ratio. On any given week, I typically spend about 15 hours contracting for a media company in Alaska. I use about 5 to 10 hours a week, on average, to pursue and work on paying projects such as newspaper articles and freelance copy editing. The rest of my "work" time is spent on personal writing projects. I rarely write for more than 25 hours over the course of a week (I include my blog in this mix, as well as all the efforts that never see the light of day.) My mental energy is usually spent if I’ve honestly put in those 20-25 hours (honestly meaning I don’t count the time I spend playing Words With Friends while ignoring text documents on the screen.)

 According to Strava, my “play” time generally amounts to 10-20 hours a week. This play time is how I generate the creative energy I need to write. If I’m more physically active, I tend to be more productive in my book projects. I take more photos. Sometimes I sketch (these days mostly dabbling with computer software.) Recently, I even picked up a couple of freelance graphic design projects. When I'm less active, the creative side my mind quiets, and annoying anxieties become louder. If forced to become inactive, I’m sure I’d find a way to adjust. But for now, I view play as my way of generating energy, not spending it.

 Do I wish I could funnel the time into something else? I do wonder if I should make an effort to become more engaged in my community — join a trails committee, volunteer for a wilderness organization, go to city council meetings. When I did these things as a student activist and later as a newspaper reporter, I gained a rewarding connection to my communities. This was the whole reason I first ventured into journalism — in my view, engaging people on an individual and community level is the only realistic way for most individuals to “change the world.” Between my actual money-generating work, domestic chores, personally fulfilling creative projects, spending time with Beat, other (somewhat limited) social activities, and of course the running and cycling, I really don’t have tons of leftover time. Community activism would be one area I might like to redirect some of this time.

Scott and Ezter enjoying a swig of whiskey on South Boulder Peak

8. Is the (previous blog post) a sign of an existential vacuum? Do you think of yourself as self-actualized, fulfilled, happy through outdoor activities that only you experience?

In philosophy, I most directly identify with existentialism — the approach of finding self and the meaning of life through free will, choice, and personal responsibility. Existential philosophers have posited that material desire is futile, and a person becomes their best self when they are pressed against extreme difficulty. By embracing their own existence, a person transcends the absurdity and oblivion of an irrational universe.

Throughout my college years, I was deeply engaged in a spiritual search. During this time, I drifted away from the religion of my youth, as well as other traditional paths (I was accepted to but never started law school, as one example.) At the time, I also devoured the novels by Thomas Wolfe. One passage from “Look Homeward Angel” stands out. The fictionalized version of the author asks the imaginary ghost of his dead brother:

“Where, Ben? Where is the world?” 

“Nowhere,” Ben said. “You are your world.” 

Inevitable catharsis by the threads of chaos. Unswerving punctuality of chance. Apexical summation, from the billion deaths of possibility, of things done.

... On the brink of the dark he stood, with only the dream of the cities, the million books, the spectral images of the people he loved, who loved him, whom he had known and lost. They will not come again. They never will come back again.” 

The author looks into this abyss and decides he must journey on. Why? Because this is life. It is beautiful, because we believe it is.

Coming up for air after this philosophical plunge, one of my core beliefs is that the meaning of life is to live. And I find self-actualization through creative expression and its power to break through barriers. I may engage in outdoor activities that only I experience, but I write about them. Other people, often complete strangers to me, have written back to share how they connected with the words, how their own perspectives shifted, how they were inspired to take a different direction, try something new. I believe humanity will benefit if people decide, collectively, that we are ultimately in charge of our own destinies, and take action — instead of treating life as something that just happens, or must be determined by someone or something else. No! You are your world.

Beat on South Boulder Peak, probably again stressing the imminence of darkness.

9. Have you considered alternate physical activities that are believed to have positive impact on human health (both physical and psychological), e.g. yoga? 

If you read my blog regularly or have made it this far in this post, it’s probably obvious that physical health is not my primary goal for outdoor activities. As for yoga, I avoid it because of predetermined fears. My inflexible body, balance struggles, introversion and performance anxiety would make me deeply uncomfortable even in the most basic beginner yoga class. That’s even more reason to believe it would be good for me, but my interest is low. If a doctor prescribed yoga as a treatment, I’d probably ask for a second opinion. However, I do lift weights. When I keep up a steady routine, I enjoy and look forward to my sessions, even though weight lifting doesn't include forward motion, the outdoors, endorphin stimulation, or anything that I actually like about physical activity. When I believed my thyroid levels might prevent me from doing any form of cardio, I decided I could be content focusing solely on weight lifting for a while. Perhaps I should give yoga a chance.

10. What are the top three bike rides you must do before you die? 

 I’m not really a bucket-lister type of person, so I won’t say I *must* do these rides (I like to keep my options open.) But the top three on the wish list are:

1. A winter fat bike excursion along the coast of Baffin Island.
2. A tour in New Zealand, possibly the Tour Aotearoa route.
3. Cycle across Mongolia (I picked up “Where the Pavement Ends” by Erika Warmbrunn at a library back in 2002, and that was among three books that inspired me to start cycling. If I ever end up going to Mongolia, I imagine it happening when I'm an older woman, revisiting the dreams of my 22-year-old self.)

11. What's the one adventure you keep dreaming about, but haven't yet done? 

 Referring back to the previous question, a bike tour through Mongolia. But if I could add another, I would love to embark on a long trek in Nepal. The Great Himalaya Trail is probably over my pay grade, but I dream about traveling the high route over 6,000-meter passes.

Descending the "Hairy Backside" of South Boulder mountain. Hopping loose boulders — always a swift mode of travel.

12. How do you stay so focused on outdoor adventures? Or do you have other hobbies that you just don't write about on this blog? 

I wouldn't say I am overwhelmingly focused on outdoor adventures, but they do take up a lot of space. My main hobbies are writing and reading. Occasionally I will watch movies with Beat, although it's been a long time since I saw one I really loved ("Arrival" was the most enjoyable in recent memory.) I also enjoy drawing, which I rarely do, sadly. I spend a lot of time reading — mainly newspapers, magazine articles, essays, and blogs. I do read 15-20 books a year, but like many people, I've killed my attention span with Internet garbage, and this has turned me into a slow book reader. I read almost exclusively nonfiction, favoring the genres in which I write (adventure narratives and memoir.) I spend too much time with social media, and fretting about the things I've read in newspapers. Beat has threatened to teach me about his engineering hobbies (he designs and builds his own gadgets), so I can be more productive in my downtime.

13. Are you perfectly content to have a small dedicated readership? I'm asking because it seems like your blog is a hidden gem, which I selfishly love because I managed to find it, but then I think how your talent for writing and photography has the potential to inspire so many more people. 

Aw, thanks. I think that my blog is wedged in a fairly niche genre, and it's only ever going to appeal to a small number of people. Occasionally a post on this blog will receive a huge number of hits — no doubt shared on social media by an influential person — but those first-time visitors almost never return. If I wanted my blog to reach a large number of folks regularly, I'd be better served turning it into a general-interest healthy living site. (Photos of beautiful people in front of pleasant scenery? Check. Instragrammable portraits of food? Check. Paleo recipes? Check.) The same goes for my books — in my genre, even books by "famous" people like Kilian Jornet sell just a few thousand copies. I am working to venture outside the adventure/outdoors genre, but I have no desire to labor through uninteresting projects or put up a front to become more marketable. I'd rather work in fast food.

I do appreciate the readers I've been able to reach, and enjoy the connections I've made through this endeavor. It's been more than worth it.

Beat found an elk antler in the grass.

14. Finally, what was the most memorable trail meal you've ever had?

Good question! I'm going to presume you mean an actual trail meal, and not a restaurant meal eaten during a trip. When I was 22 or 23, my then-boyfriend and I planned an overnight backpacking trip in Zion National Park with eight other friends. Geoff fancied himself a backcountry gourmet and promised he would make dinner for everyone. He recruited me to carry some of the supplies, but for everyone else, the specifics of our dinner would be a surprise.

The first day took us 15 miles through dry canyons and a high desert plateau on a brutally hot summer day. The group was exhausted and crashed out in the shade while Geoff and I commenced cooking dinner for ten people — spaghetti with a sauce made from fresh tomatoes, zucchini, onions, peppers and mushrooms (I cut up the vegetables using a Leatherman tool on the lid of the camp pot), pre-cooked garlic bread wrapped in foil, fancy olives for hors d'oeuvres, and two bottles of red wine (yes, in glass bottles. I carried those in and out.) In civilization it would have been a fairly basic meal, but the red canyon walls and unobstructed blue sky gave it a special flavor. Then I pulled out the pièce de résistance — chocolate and vanilla ice cream bars, packed on dry ice and stored in a small soft-shelled cooler. Our friends were floored. The reactions were priceless. Even though my shoulders ached from what must have been a 50+ -pound overnight pack, it was more than worth it. That's still one of my favorite food memories.

Those are all of the questions I received. Thanks to readers who went out a limb to ask challenging questions, and to the others who wrote e-mails to share their thoughts.

Learning to walk (and fly) again

It's been a relatively productive week ... a couple of articles finished, newspapers out, interviews conducted, a few thousand words added to the book project, a second week of tedious indoor strength-training and knee rehab exercises completed (next week starts balance. Eek.) And I started walking again. This feels like a big step in recovery. While I did go for a few walks in Utah two weeks ago, these walks are now goal-oriented and pain-free, with fewer tentative steps and unproductive knee-locking. They aren't the most exciting workouts. My id just wants to run, and knows it would be so easy to start. I'm just so close, with my shoes and my trekking poles on a real trail. It takes a big lasso from the super-ego to reel it in. I Strava'd my walks just for #proof (that I may need to show Beat) that I didn't cheat and jog a little, and then named my Strava activities after lyrics from the Foo Fighters' "Walk:"

Learning to walk again
I believe I've waited long enough
Where do I begin?

After all of the walking and push-ups and shoulder presses, I thought I deserved a treat for the week, so on Wednesday I decided to embark on my first mountain bike ride in two months. I was so excited. Not only would I finally put some wheels (well, non-skinny wheels) to dirt, but they'd be brand new wheels.

Last month, Beat purchased a new mountain bike, a Lenz Behemoth with an XO group, 1x11 drivetrain. It's a sweet bike. I admit to not being terribly supportive of him making this purcase. Beat has this thing with bikes. Some people might call it "light hoarding." Even though he is a runner, he strongly adheres to the n+1 formula of bike ownership. "It's more fun to buy bikes than it is to ride them," he tells me. I used to enthusiastically support this, but then bikes began to take over our small apartment, and the living room turned into a bike shop, and there was drivetrain grease smeared on the refrigerator. So I unloaded some of my bikes. Now I own two bikes, and Beat owns nine or fourteen. I continue to complain about overcrowding, and then quietly reap all the benefits by riding Beat's bikes on a regular basis, arguably more than he does.

And to be entirely honest, I was thrilled about my chance to finally take the Lenz out for a test drive. It was late afternoon, around 4 p.m., by the time I set out, and my sluggish legs balked at having to propel such a heavy beast after a month of pure rest and a couple of weeks on the uber-light Specialized S-Works Roubaix (which also belongs to Beat.) By the time I neared the top of Black Mountain, every part of my body was annoyed at all of this hard effort business, and I nearly turned around early, but then thought, "Nope, gotta test out the Lenz."

Black Mountain is a place I visit frequently, and yet it retains a unique presence — this kind of quiet tranquility, with the golden sunlight reflecting on the Pacific Ocean and coastal fog pouring over the lower ridges to the west. A Zen place. I never grow tired of it.

Boosted by Black Mountain love, I jumped back on the Lenz and proceeded to float down Stevens Creek Canyon in the fading evening light. It's a beautiful feeling to recapture after many weeks away— flowing down a familiar trail, leaning into curves, lightly launching off water bars, squinting out the rocks against the harsh glare of the setting sun. I cranked up the short, steep rises as best I could in the saddle, and coasted through a tunnel of trees, breathing chilled air and listening to the whir of tires and crackle of leaves. A truly beautiful experience.

When I came home and plugged my GPS data into Strava, I saw an interesting statistic — my fastest time ever for the "Stevens Canyon Super D" — an eight-mile dirt segment from the gate on Montebello Road to the gate on Stevens Canyon Road that is mostly descending on singletrack, but also includes about 1,000 feet of climbing. This fastest time included my Black Mountain lingering and selfie indulgence (I meant to take a better selfie that showed more of the bike, but couldn't find a good angle.) I enjoy using Strava — not for its comparisons to others, which I don't find all that inspiring or interesting — but for its years' worth of stored data of my own efforts that I can effortlessly compare to myself.

Back in August 2011 — August 11 to be precise — I crashed my mountain bike while descending Stevens Creek Canyon and sustained a large wound in my right elbow. Without trying to be too graphic, what happened is a thin rock stabbed into my elbow and spooned out a sizeable chunk of flesh, which was promptly replaced with a small handful of bacteria-ridden dirt and pebbles. This crash was a large, negative turning point in my mountain bike hobby — not because it was a major injury, which it wasn't, but because it was so intensely painful, for days and even weeks later, that it left a permanent gouge on my memory, and in turn my confidence. My mountain biking has been notably worse ever since. And Strava is there to prove it — eight of my "top ten" times in this segment of trail that I've ridden many dozens of times happened before August 11, 2011.

Until Wednesday:

And really, it's Beat's Lenz that should get all the credit. That bike floats like a hovercraft, over everything. It's truly amazing.

But in necessary confidence-rebuilding of this learning-to-walk-again stage, it helps to believe that maybe I'm finally recovering from the psychological trauma imparted by the elbow-mangling incident that long preceded my current injury.

A couple of other notes:

• Beat and I signed up for the Backyard Fat Pursuit, Jay Petervary's 200-kilometer snow bike race in Island Park, Idaho, in January. This event was not on my radar, but when I was feeling bummed out about not being chosen in the White Mountains 100 lottery, a couple of different friends urged me to consider it. These friends are planning to be there, and since Beat and I are missing out on Frog Hollow this year, it seemed reasonable to move our annual endurance bike party north. It will also be a fine opportunity to test out some gear for bike touring in Alaska in March. Have you ever considered riding a fat bike for 120 miles in the Rocky Mountains in the winter? You should come!

• I created a books page for my blog, with full descriptions of my books, links where they're for sale online, and links to reviews. If you're a reader of this blog, I urge you to check it out. Every book sale helps, and goes a long way in supporting this blog and — hopefully quite soon — more books. Link here.

• While I was Google mining links for the books page, I came across a book review for "Ghost Trails" that I appreciated from a blog called the Dusty Musette. It's not overly praising, but it's a review that made me think, "Wow, he gets it" — and it's always gratifying as a writer to realize a mutual connection with a reader, even for a book that I wrote six years ago.

• Thanks for reading!

Learning to run again

 After the third and hopefully final knee-flexing session with my doctor today, I was given the go-ahead to start running again, as well as encouragement to "ween" myself from dependency on a rigid brace while riding bikes. Lots of miles in the saddle and very few on foot have disrupted the balance, and I've noticed old overuse nags that I haven't felt in years — hints of patellar and Achilles tendonitis. I either have to reduce the cycling miles or slowly increase the foot miles. I'd planned on walking after the appointment, but after the encouraging assessment, decided to leave the trekking poles in the car and try a slow jog. Four miles on a flat gravel path at an average of 12 minutes per mile, and the knee felt surprisingly strong. I would probably be more excited about that, except for the rest of it felt discouragingly tough for a four-mile, 48-minute jog. It's going to be a long road back. It always is.

On Wednesday I rode in the Headlands with Leah. I'm actually feeling pretty strong on the bike right now — that came back fast. We enjoyed a mellow spin in the fading evening light, then went for Burmese food in the Richmond district. As we were enjoying our tea leaf salad, the streets outside erupted into mild chaos, with screaming, honking, loud bangs, even fireworks. Before this evening, I had no clue that the World Series was happening, or that the Giants were playing, but they apparently had just won and the usual mayhem and car fires were about to begin. I'm embarrassed that I didn't know about the World Series. I browse the New York Times site every morning, keep up with Bay Area media to an admittedly lesser extent, and have baseball fans as friends, and yet I missed this. It's evidence of how insular my world has become, and how I should probably pay more attention to what's going on locally besides extreme drought and eye-rolling political antics. I'm not against professional team sports; they simply aren't interesting to me, and it's gotten to the point of inattention where I've lost track of even major events like the Superbowl. But it is good to know when the streets of San Francisco might erupt into riots, just in case I'm out for a Headlands bike ride that evening. At least the trails were nice and empty.

In other news, my blog turns nine years old this week. Can you believe it? Nine! A cursory glance at the Blogger overview reveals that amounts to 1,796 posts, 21,874 comments, and 4,141,958 visits lo these many years. This is a small (yet obese) blog with a limited scope, but it continues to be a fun, relaxing project, and I enjoy having the record of nine years' worth of adventures. I am nearing completion of my book project that has involved poring over every post from year one of this blog, and that's been an interesting rehash as well. Many times I find myself thinking, "Was I ever so young?" ... which is a little embarrassing considering I'm still writing about virtually the same subjects on the same platform. But I value all of the connections this blog created over the years, the new friends and new ideas. I appreciate those who continue to check in even during the typical life lulls, like now.

On that note, I've also returned to my Iditarod 2014 race report and am considering starting to post that next week (contingent on continuing to make good progress on my book project.) I held off for so long because ... life ... and also because I had this conceptual idea that I wanted to spend more time hashing out, but it's proving to be difficult. A straight narrative might be the best way to go for now, just to make sure I get it all down before the memories start to fade. I can return to my original idea in future Iditarod adventures, which I plan to continue this coming March. So look for that. In the meantime, buy Tim's book! ;)

I am trying to put together a ~300-mile bikepacking loop around the Santa Cruz mountains, and was hoping to scout some trails on the northern part of the Peninsula this weekend. Beat scrutinized my route and announced it contained a large amount of hike-a-bike and some possibly illegal trails. So perhaps it's back to square one. If any readers know of good routes in Half Moon Bay, Montara, and Pacifica, I'd appreciate some direction for good touring (emphasis on touring) trails. Apparently I routed my tour through 30-percent-grade segments with names like "Cave Hike-A-Bike," "911 DH," and "XXX DH."

Speaking of blog connections, I recently learned that a woman who I knew while I lived in Alaska has been diagnosed with stage four colon cancer that spread to her liver. She used to keep a blog called "Karen Travels" and lived in Anchorage for a few years. She is a single mother to a two-year-old son and she is younger than I am, facing an extremely difficult battle. She has been on my mind frequently this week, even before she sent me an e-mail asking if I wouldn't mind sharing her fundraising page. "I am hoping I have at least a few good years, I am not done adventuring, and I want to take him out on some adventures too!" she wrote. Karen hopefully will have more great adventures. Her fundraising page, "Karen Kicking Cancer," is at this link.